Until that garage door lifts and the clutter and grit stands piled up around us and we're a little bit bummed to see that it's still there; yet also so very happy, because it means we are home.
We had such a great time in Tennessee. My thoughts carried a twang for a good four days running. I want to be Southern with a visceral fierceness. Or British. Either one.
The goblins peered up at mountains and ate snow cones dipped from a shady pick-up truck equipped with an Igloo cooler full of shaved ice and 6 pump-bottles of syrup in the bed. One "ice cream man" was shirtless. The other had a fu manchu. I wouldn't have believed it, except for the tinny ice cream truck music piped from a speaker in the cab.
I died a thousand deaths because my girl is drawn to plunging drop-offs. She was always hitching a leg overboard to see just a little more. It gave me the vapors.
(I'm real strong y'all.)
And just like that, here we are.
I whined that I didn't want to come back to Drearsville. This rental, it's getting under my skin a bit. From the passenger seat of the van, I pictured it dark and sunless. Tired and old.
You know what? It's plenty sunny in here.
There are groceries in the fridge and clean laundry in the dryer. I busted out the famous veggie pita sandwich for my lunch and it slapped me on the back like the old friend that it is.
So maybe I don't have to choose between vacation happy and real life happy. Maybe they were allies all along. There was never a contest.
Ask me again tomorrow when the temperature dips twenty degrees and the sun hides out in the way-back.
But for today? Home is kinda dreamy.